


Letters to You

by trekkiepirate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s09e07 Bad Boys, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trekkiepirate/pseuds/trekkiepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they get back to the bunker, Sam has a surprise for Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to You

The car ride back was quiet save for the Led Zeppelin cassette playing in the background until the brothers got to the Bunker. Sam rubbed Dean's shoulders as he drove, trying to soothe the ache brought on by being tossed around by the ghost of Timmy's mom.

Sam did a perimeter check and made sure Crowley was still chained up while Dean looked in on Kevin to make sure their prophet was safe in his bed.

“Out like a light,” Dean said when his brother came into the main room. He handed Sam one of the two beer bottles he'd already grabbed. That's when he noticed Sam was carrying a stack of letters. “What're those?”

Sam shyly placed the letters on the table. He rapped his knuckles on them before answering, “They're letters I wrote you everyday for two months while I was at Bobby's..”

Dean stared. “Sam? But how... just... how?”

“How do I still have them?” Sam asked. He took a sip of his beer. “I, uh, I kept them in a safe deposit box with a bunch of other mementos of us. Pictures and, uh,” Sam blushed, “that gray shirt I was wearing the night when we first, when you-”

“-The night I took it off you for the first time,” Dean finished.

Sam nodded, smiling at the memory: Dean's hands, so steady when holding a gun, shook as he undressed his brother. They were so eager, Dean tugged Sam's shirt wrong and ripped a hole in the seam along the left shoulder. Dean must have asked Sam if he was sure at least fifty times before he finally slid inside his baby brother for the first time.

“Why'd you put them in a safe deposit box?” Dean asked, breaking Sam from his reminiscences.

The taller man ducked his head. “I couldn't risk Jess finding them and figuring it out. While you were in Hell, I would go to the bank, sit in that little room and reread them and just... god, Dean.” Sam's voice broke and he took in a shaky breath.

Dean asked, “What about while I was in Purgatory?”

Sam huffed a laugh. “I was driving to get them when I hit the dog.” He looked up at his brother. “Anyway, when we found this place, I knew they'd be safe, so I brought them here. I just... I wanted you to know how much I missed you. When Dad said you were lost, man, I think I sobbed nonstop for a week straight.”

Dean reached out and stroked the letter on the top. “Sam,” he had to know, “Did you think I was dead?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes. But I couldn't make myself believe it. I felt like... I'd know if you died. Like my heart would know. Let me tell you, it turns out I was right,” Sam's smile was forced and tinged with pain.

“God, Sam,” Dean breathed.

“Dean, I just... I want you to read them, to know that you have always been my hero. And you always will be. I know sometimes you think you love me more than I love you.”

Dean tried to cut in, “Sammy...”

“Just... you told me in that church that was was nothing, past or present, you would put in front of me. Well, it goes both ways. Look,” Sam searched for one somewhere in the middle, “here. 'I wish you were here. I wish you'd just come through the door and hug me. I know I'm probably getting too big for hugs'-”

Dean huffed a laugh, tears shining in his eyes.

“'But I never want to be too big for your hugs. You make me feel safe, even more than Dad or Uncle Bobby. I know you're coming back, Dean. You always promise to come back for me; this time it's just taking a little longer.'”

Nodding, Dean said, “The second you could see me, you jumped out of the car and ran to hug me. You started telling me about the Latin texts you were helping Bobby translate. Talked a mile a minute, you were so proud he'd asked for your help. Talked yourself to sleep, head on my shoulder. Believe me, that was much better than any school dance could ever have been.”

Sam smiled. “Bobby was trying to distract me. I think I drove him kinda crazy with questions about when you were coming back. Ego te desiderari.”

Dean smiled at the words, then bit his lip and counted the letters. 61. One every day, just like Sam said. “I wrote you too.”

Sam looked up, shock evident on his face.

“Well, I couldn't actually, like, write things down in case someone found it, but in my head, every day before I went to sleep. I told you everything that happened that day, from the first time I milked a cow to winning a wrestling title.”

His brother grinned. “I saw that. Up on the Hall of Fame Wall at Sonny's.”

Dean's head ducked, but not before Sam saw the pleased smile on his brother's face. He raised his face to Sam's, face serious. “If it had just been Dad who came for me, I'd have marched down to the car and told him I was out. God, I almost did; Sonny even offered to fight for me to stay. But there you were,” Dean beamed at Sam, “playing with some airplane, making it fly out the window. And I couldn't stay, even if I wanted to.”

Sam nodded. “Because of me.”

Catching the guilt in the younger man's voice, Dean reached out for Sam, laying a hand over his wrist. “Don't you ever think I regret coming back. How many times have we had to save each other? If something had happened to you and I hadn't been there to protect you; that would have killed me.” Dean closed his eyes and shook his head, “Killed me where I stood. No wrestling title or date with Robin would have saved me.”

Sam laid his other hand atop Dean's. “Why didn't you tell me about this before?”

A muscle ticked in Dean's jaw. “I lost the food money, then stole shit.” He frowned. “I didn't want you seeing me doing that. Didn't want you to think less of me.”

“Dean,” Sam said, “I love you more for this. Yeah, you lost the money, but you were a kid. And you didn't steal some random crap, you stole food. And you do realize, even when you told me about it a couple days ago, you said I would be hungry; you stole that food for me. Us. You were looking out for me, like you always have. So thank you.” Sam smiled. “Again.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Have we finished this extremely girly display of emotion? Like, can we get to the sex now?”

Sam tossed his head back and laughed; Dean felt like a fucking superhero for being the one to make Sam laugh like that. As his younger brother stood, Dean did the same, picking up the letters as he did.

Raising his eyebrows, Sam asked, “I thought sex was on the agenda next?”

Dean grinned. “It is. This is for dramatic readings in my best impression of you at twelve after I've made you come at least twice, maybe three times if you think you're up for it.” With that, Dean smirked at his brother, licked his lips and sprinted to his room.

The taller man spluttered as he took off after Dean. “Fuck you, Dean!” He said as he entered Dean's bedroom.

The older man had already shucked his shirt and was working on his jeans. “Maybe for round two, Sammy,” he leered.

When Sam went to take off his own shirt, Dean raised a hand to stop him.

“Let me,” he said, voice soft, no longer teasing. Dean stepped close to his brother and drew him into a kiss, but kept it gentle, almost chaste except for the way he nipped at Sam's lips. He grabbed the hem of Sam's shirt and pulled it up and over his brother's head, with the practiced ease he didn't have when Sam was fifteen. “Haven't done that in a while,” he commented, resting his hands on Sam's waist.

Sam mirrored the position of Dean's hands with his own. “No,” was all he said.

“I love you,” Dean said, eyes fixed on Sam's.

“I love you too,” Sam replied without a nanosecond of hesitation. His lips twitched into a pleased smile. “Haven't done that in a while either.” He tilted his head down and kissed Dean. “I love that you came back to hunting for me.”

Dean's smile slide over his face like quicksilver. “You did the same for me when I showed up at your door.”

“And I'd do it again,” Sam said, “every time, I would do it again.” A sad smile quirked his lips. “I just would have made sure Jess was safe before I left. Hell, I probably would just have never gone out with her at all; she'd be better off.”

“Don't blame yourself,” Dean said, hand coming to rest over Sam's heart.

Sam smirked at his brother. “Nice to meet you you, pot. I'm kettle.”

Dean laughed. “We are so fucked up, aren't we?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a chuckle. “I'm glad we're fucked up in the same ways though,” he let his hand slide from Dean's waist over his shoulder to his bicep.

Dean's eyes flashed a dark heat and he leaned up to claim Sam's mouth in a kiss that was no longer innocent.

Sam broke the kiss when his lungs burned for oxygen. Dean's mouth immediately went to his neck, already sucking a bruise into the place where his shoulder met his throat. “At least twice, huh? I think we can shoot for three.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Latin phrase Sam uses translates (as well as I could) to 'I missed you'.


End file.
